


Ruination Day

by thegoodreverend



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Mostly Hurt Very Little Comfort, alternate universe - rdr los santos, arthur and john love each other and suck at emotions: a novel by me, arthur copes with loss, arthur listens to country music and john hates being in his car, dutch copes with nothing, john copes with change, no boning in this one cowboys, slice of that criminal life, the arthur/john is pretty light and you could read it as just extreme affection if you wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-22 18:56:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17668244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodreverend/pseuds/thegoodreverend
Summary: “We’re takin’ Bo’,” he said, and that was as much of a hello as John could expect.“You take Bo’, I’ll follow.”“You show up on a bike in a leather jacket he’ll shoot on sight. Vehement hate for the law and the Lost’re about all him and Dutch got in common.”“Fine. I’m pickin’ the music.”“Sure,” Arthur chuckled, in that voice that meant 'you go ahead and try, kid,' and John frowned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd and posted at 2 AM, as I do. Sorry for the typos, I'm sure they're in there.

Hosea started laughing.

It wasn’t the kind that alleviated any tension – and you could cut through the tension in the room with a knife if you felt like it, John thought – but one that was bitter and cold and punctuated by coughing like the whole situation was some nihilistic joke. The frown on Dutch’s face got impossibly deeper and John wished he wasn’t the only other person in the room.

“Do you remember what they started calling you before we left New Austin?” Hosea asked, and despite the fact that Dutch looked like he was about to murder anybody with the poor fortune to be near him he pressed on and turned his gaze to John, because of course Dutch remembered. “A poor man’s Jim Jones. Taking wayward youth from his after-school programs and social ne’er-do-wells from the soup lines under his wing using the guise of social equality, preaching racial acceptance and building a better, fairer society. Only instead of a commune we built a crime ring.”

“Stop, Hosea,” Dutch said, and John found himself thinking that he might actually lose it - today is the day Dutch van der Linde actually goes insane. But Hosea, being Hosea, pressed on.

“Arthur was the first success, the first soldier. And then you, John, and Abigail, and now Lenny. The rest are successes in their own right, but you four are proof the plan worked. I used to think it was a bullshit claim, you know, because we do love you. And sometimes you have to fight a little fire with fire, and I’ve always said rules exist to be broken. But now, I think, those fuckers in New Austin might have been right. The fucking _jungle_. He wants to take all of us to the fucking _jungle_.” 

“Thanks for your support, _old friend_ ,” Dutch growled, and Hosea barked a laugh. 

“You’ll be the death of us all, Dutch. Get your head right before it’s too late.”

Hosea stood and Dutch stayed wound tight in his chair, and John didn’t know what to do  so h e kept his body cautious and leaned back against the wall, hands on his belt like they had been, knowing Hosea noticed their white-knuckled grip and hoping Dutch didn’t. The older man walked over to him, and put a hand on his shoulde r, and said “Start thinking about that kid, Johnny.” 

John bit the inside of his cheek, because he couldn’t very well speak in front of Dutch, and Hosea seemed to know. He clapped his shoulder once, and then turned to walk out of the room. Dutch didn’t stop him. He just waited until the door to the office closed behind him. 

“Old fool. I wonder sometimes if the cancer hasn’t actually reached his brain,” he spat, and something inside John’s stomach wanted to curl in on itself. He’d never heard Dutch talk about Hosea in that way, and it made him wonder if maybe Dutch hadn’t already completely lost his mind. Whatever stress he was under was making him that way, maybe. “You gonna say something, son?”

“Nothin’ to say,” John said, and kept his face straight. There was too much to worry about as it was. 

“Good. Then you go out there and make sure Arthur sticks to the script. Man’s gotten too soft recently.” 

“He’s just tired, Dutch.”

“We all are. That’s why we need this. You see that, don’t you? A knew country, leaving all this gun play and social politicking behind.”

“I guess so. Seems like we could just as easily move to the middle of nowhere in the states, though.”

Dutch stared at him. Not the angry stare he’d given Hosea – one of incredulity, an arched eyebrow that threatened to call John stupid even though Dutch had never called him stupid to his face. He knew what the expression meant. “And where would you suggest we go?”

“I don’t know. Wyoming, maybe.”

“Wyoming.” Dutch said, and started to chuckle. “ _Wyoming_. Go and help Arthur, John.”

John left the office and took the hall through the back of the Overlook, to the parking lot in the back. Calling Abigail from the inside of the  bar wouldn’t go over well,  but he had to do it. He had plans to cancel – plans that needed canceling regardless of whether or not Dutch needed him to work.

Not that  absence of the wild noises of the Overlook at night mean the call w as going to go well, anyway. It never did anymore.  He and Abigail were technically taking time apart, but Abigail was his best friend and very much a constant part of his life even if they weren’t together technically speaking, and then there was Jack. Not really such thing as a break with a kid involved. But John was notoriously awful at responsibility, and Abigail had quit working for Dutch everywhere other than behind the bar at the Overlook and was losing her patience with all of John’s obligations, and so practically every conversation they had was tense. John readied himself as the phone rang, and started off by apologizing. Abigail seemed to know it was coming. 

“Tell him to fuck off.”

“I can’t. There’s other shit going on and Dutch wants-”

“I swear to Christ, you’d jump off a fuckin’ bridge if Dutch asked you to.”

John leaned back against the side of the building, kicking the gravel under his heel and switching his phone to his other hand. Abigail stopped snapping at him for long enough to pull away and holler _Jack, honey, don’t touch that it’s hot_ and he tried to imagine what the kid had taken an interest in. It was probably about dinner time. He imagined Abigail in her lofted studio, phone against her shoulder trying to juggle dinner for Jack and a little rest between shifts at the diner and the bar, and pushed the guilt he felt to the side. 

“Look, it ain’t my fault Morgan lives out in bumfuck nowhere, and it ain’t my fault there’s like, two people in the whole damn state we can get a plane from without asking too many questions.”

“Somebody else could go.”

“Who, Bill? You know who we’re goin’ to see, right? That won’t go no way but south. Bill’d piss him off in seconds and half the county’d get blown off the map.”

“Obviously not _Bill_ , but Javier or Sadie-”

“Everybody who’s suitable’s busy. Unless you think sendin’ Pearson and Swanson to negotiate a god damn plane rental from a fella like as not belongs in an asylum sounds like a good idea. Besides, I got other business out there.”

“Other business my ass. Susan could probably handle him. Last time he proposed, if I remember correctly.”

John stopped and couldn’t help the quiet, short laugh that escaped his lips. “Yeah, true enough. But Dutch ain’t sendin’ Susan.”

“You don’t know anything about planes.”

“Never stopped me before. I gotta work, Abby.”

“Just… the boy misses you. And you said – I want to try to make this work, John. I really do.”

“I’ll stop by after I get back. Swear to god.” 

“We’ve heard that a lot. Seems something always comes up.” 

“What do you want me to do? Dutch needs-”

“Dutch? Fuck _Dutch_ , John. Your _son_ needs his daddy, how about that? You keep sayin’ that you’re trynna do right by us and that you want to try being a real family but you never act like you actually wanna do any of those things. You wanna run around like a dog off the leash and have a good time.” 

“That ain’t fair – I’m makin’ money for-”

“ _I’m_ making money. Legal money. I get a fuckin’ W2 and pay taxes, the cops can’t arrest me for the money I earn. Listen, I told you back then if you didn’t wanna feel obligated you didn’t have to, and _you_ said you wanted to give this a go, and then you wasted a year of my life acting like I was forcing you to stay before up and bailing on _everybody_ like an asshole. You’re lucky I took you seriously when you got back. Hell, you’re lucky anybody took you seriously. The only person making this hard for you is _you_ – just fucking decide what you want and stop dragging everybody else around for the ride.” 

He had a very clear image of himself smashing his phone to pieces on the ground, and it looked like it felt good. It seemed like a decent idea, and Old John would have done it without pause . Not because  what Abigail was saying wasn’t true – she was right, he was an asshole and all of it was absolute  fact , but because he’d been back for almost two years and she still wasn’t letting it go, and really  there were things bigger than the plane going on . But that was  O ld John, he told himself. New John, the John who came back two years ago and was trying hard to do better, took a deep breath through his nose and pulled his cigarettes from his pocket, let Abigail finish, and spoke in a calm but strained voice. 

“I told you, I got other business. You know what day it is tomorrow?”

“Fuckin’ April fourteenth, is this twenty questions or – oh. Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Is he gonna go out to see them?”

“He usually does. Don’t want him goin’ alone. Do you?”

“Fuck you, of course not. You know, if you just started off like that we coulda skipped half this conversation.” 

“That’d be lyin’. Ain’t like I’m not workin’, too. You said no lyin’.”

“The two of you make up any excuse to pretend you don’t care. You’re a son of a bitch, John Marston.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll tell Morgan hello for you anyway.”

“Actually, I see him pretty regular.”

“Really?”

“He comes into the diner a lot. We go out for beer after, sometimes. He babysat for me last week. Funny how Arthur can manage a social life outside of Dutch’s little gang, huh.”

“You ain’t exactly outside the organization.”

“Not for lack of trying.” 

The exhaustion leaked through her voice, then, and John pushed the guilt away for a second time. He lit his cigarette, and pocketed his lighter. “I gotta go. I just wanted to let you know  I gotta bail on tonight .” 

“Yeah, well. Thanks for calling this time.”

“Tell Jack I’ll be by this weekend.”

“I’m not telling Jack anything anymore. I’m sick of seein’ him disappointed when you don’t show up as planned. So just text me if you’re outside and otherwise just… stop planning. You suck at it.”

“I’ll text you this weekend, then.”

“Sure, John,” Abigail laughed, and then hung up. John thought about smashing his phone again. 

 

* * *

Arthur didn’t live  _in_ Sandy Shores, which made everything worse. At least Sandy Shores was an easy freeway exit. Any time John had to go meet Arthur, which wasn’t frequent because most of their business was done in the city and Arthur seemed to always be at Dutch’s shoulder, he had to get off the highway and drive an extra fifteen minutes into a place that wasn’t even a proper town and he had no actual name for because Sandy Shores was far enough away that it didn’t seem right to call it that. Then they had to go do whatever dumb bullshit Dutch had in mind which was usually  _also_ in the middle of nowhere since nothing of any great value was in Sandy Shores and thus double the inconvenience to get to from Arthur’s shitty trailer, or they were dealing with Trevor fucking Philips and  that in and of itself was about as inconvenient as anything could possibly get. 

But John drove out there anyway, because they needed a plane, and because tomorrow was April fourteenth and ever since Arthur’d gotten shot and almost died he’d gotten a lot more… something. Delicate wasn’t the right word, John thought, bec ause Arthur was a brick of a man. Soft, maybe,  like Dutch had said . Something in him had changed, and in a way it was good because he’d gotten a lot more tolerable as far as his mood, and he was real good to Abigail and Jack and a good mentor to Lenny and he used a lot more of his money to look out for the gang when they needed help. In other ways, though, it was terrible, because sometimes he got this distant look about him that John didn’t know what to do with. And sometimes  the new softness was a pain in the ass, because Arthur didn’t like doing small jobs anymore and wouldn’t work with Strauss which mean t John and Bill ended up debt collecting and John  _hated_ the loan shark gig. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to see Arthur on the porch already when he showed, smoking with his feet propped up on the railing and looking about as relaxed as ever.  No distant look in sight.  He stood when John pulled up. 

“We’re takin’ Bo’,” he said, and that was as much of a hello as John could expect. 

“You take Bo’, I’ll follow.”

“You show up on a bike in a leather jacket he’ll shoot on sight. Vehement hate for the law and the Lost’re about all him and Dutch got in common.” 

“ _Fine_. I’m pickin’ the music.”

“Sure,” Arthur chuckled, in that voice that meant _you go ahead and try, kid_ , and John frowned. 

So John left his bike and got into Arthur’s old Mustang and  tried not to let his foot tap to any of the shitty country music that played. If it happened, it was  _late_ and he was tired any he’d tap his foot to anything with a rhythm, and he’d fight anybody who said otherwise. If he knew the words, it was only because he’d once watched Arthur with his shirt half off on top of a bar drunkenly belting  _I don’t want her, you can have her, she don’t love me anyway_ and dancing to great applause. Arthur was a fun drunk.

“We oughta go get a beer after this,” John said, without really thinking. “’S been a while.”

“Yeah. Might need one dependin’ on how this all goes down, anyway.”

J ohn bit back surprise and chanced a glance over. Arthur wasn’t looking at him, relaxed in his seat with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the stick. Unreadable. Which was infuriating, because Arthur hadn’t wanted to be around him in a one-on-one social setting  since he’d gotten back and John wanted more to go off of . Their interaction had been limited to John forcing his company on him every mid-April for the last two years and group activities. Unwilling to break whatever spell had just clouded Arthur’s judgment, John decided to change the subject. 

“How come Dutch wants a plane, anyway? Can’t really be to take us to Guarma or fuckin’ wherever he’s talkin’ about.”

“Dunno. How come Dutch wants _anything_.”

“He’s got a god damn plan.”

“So he says,” Arthur laughed quietly.

“Don’t sound like you got a lotta faith, Morgan.” 

John saw him rub his forehead out of the corner of his eye,  and he grinned when Arthur scoffed. “Jesus.” 

“I swear if I hear that come outta his mouth one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Go easy on him. Hosea’s been… it’s been hard on him, seein’ Hosea sick like he has been. And after that bust on the Blackwater, the cops showin’ up like that and shuttin’ it down, his ego’s taken a hit.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t mean it ain’t infuriating, especially when he does it to _you_. Nobody’s got his back like you do, and callin’ you out like you don’t just ain’t right. And the two of us, we been around the longest, where’s he get it in his head we got anything but respect for him?”

“I imagine it’s hard for him acceptin’ we ain’t kids no more and he ain’t god, on top of everything else. He’ll get over it. Or he won’t, and we’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

John looked over, and this time Arthur met his glance, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders that he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.  Dutch had been becoming more and more unpredictable, and with the recent legal troubles and his long-time lawyer and partner in crime spending more and more of his time at the hospital, there was nobody to really keep him in line, and the thought of losing the only family he’d ever really known had been terrifying John. But Arthur had said  _we_ . As long Arthur was there, it would be fine.  He released a deep breath, and looked back out at the dark highway. “What if we force him to take a vacation?”

Arthur barked a laugh, and John felt the corners of his lips pull in a crooked smile he couldn’t stop. “Just tie him up and put him on a plane to Hawaii?”

“It’s a perfect plan.”

“Christ. Our phones’d be ringing all the time. Wakin’ up to fifty unread messages about the next plan, padded out by pictures of drinks in fuckin’ coconuts or somethin’. Little umbrellas.”

“Let him get it all out of his system.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Guess not. He’s runnin’ on hot air, more or less.”

Arthur laughed again, and John wanted to feel a little proud of himself. Except it was true, and Arthur’s laugh was the kind of laugh that wasn’t particularly genuine.  John wondered if he’d learned that laugh from Hosea, and h e sighed and took out his cigarettes again. 

“Hosea’s dyin’, ain’t he,” he said.

“Hosea’s been dyin’ for a while.”

“Yeah, but it’s gettin’ close now. That’s how come Dutch’s acting how he is.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, and so John handed him his lit cigarette and pulled out another for himself. He took it with a brief nod, and John spotted the airstrip in the distance. “Twenty years with somebody’s a lot to say goodbye to, especially when they work as close as  Hosea and Dutch do. Must feel like losin’ an arm.  Ain’t like it’s easy on us either, but  the two of them … they just… aw hell, I don’t know.”

“I gotcha,” John said, and thought he understood because losing Arthur would feel like losing an arm. Except he expected the feeling between Hosea and Dutch was mutual and he wasn’t sure that Arthur felt the same way about him – at least not anymore. Not since John had left them. Not for the first time, he wondered how long it had taken Dutch to get over Hosea’s leaving with his wife. John hadn’t been there for that – he’d come in a few years after they’d returned and never would have guessed Hosea and Bessie had ever taken a hiatus from the operation. Nobody ever talked about that period bitterly. On the other hand, Hosea had probably talked to everybody about it before he left, and planned things out, and he’d left to try and take it easy with his wife. Unlike John, who had straight up run away. Maybe it wasn’t such a fair comparison.

_Jolene_ came on the radio just as John shook another wave of guilt off his shoulders, shuddering physically. He heard Arthur grumble beside him. 

“You say one bad word about Dolly and I’ll get back on the freeway and shove you out the door.”

“Jesus, I was just _movin’_. God damn,” John huffed, and pushed himself back into his seat before looking out his window and lowering his voice. “Who doesn’t like Dolly Parton.”

“She’s a god damn gift to the world.”

“Did I say different? Calm _down_.”

“You don’t joke around about this subject.”

John looked over to find Arthur  fighting a grin , and shook his head as he pulled Bo’ on to the airstrip. “You are a sad old man if this is what gets you riled up.”

“Fella’s gotta have priorities.”

“Yeah, well, can one of our priorities be gettin’ the fuck outta here as soon as fucking possible? I hate this guy. And this shitty town.”

“At least he don’t have your phone number.”

“Oh, Jesus, did Dutch give him your number?”

“Marston… I have seen some shit the last few days. I ain’t the same man I was last Tuesday.”

John laughed,  even though he was dreading the next few hours of his life. Arthur was chuckling and John thought the last few minutes had probably been attempt to get him to lighten up. It wouldn’t do to be strung tight in this situation. Calm, and cooperative, because Christ knew what they were about to encounter. As it was, though, the airstrip was dark, and the door of the shed was closed, and there were no lights on in the office. 

“This is what you get goin’ into business with a meth head,” John sighed, and Arthur parked Bo’ and grunted his agreement. John followed him out into the night. 

They tried the door, and it became very obvious very quickly that nobody was there. Arthur walked the perimeter  of the building  anyway, and John leaned back on the hood of the car with his feet on the front bumper and stared up at the sky while  his brother in arms made everything more work than it had to be. There were a lot more stars out in the desert. It made him feel a little dizzy, how deep the sky looked. 

He was used enough to the way Arthur walked that he didn’t need to look to know it was him when he heard footsteps. He bet Hosea and Dutch knew that about each other, too, and wondered if that changed when Hosea got sick enough that his walk got tired or if Dutch knew anyway. He bet Dutch knew. John had known, when Arthur had been recovering from that gunshot and walked slow and careful around the Overlook because he couldn’t fucking sit still. Couldn’t go out on jobs, so he kept an eye on the club and even that was probably more than he should have been doing considering how close he’d been to death. 

It worked out in the end, at least. 

“John,” Arthur said, and his voice was so sudden it made John flinch in surprise.

“Yeah?”

“It seem strange to you that all that shit at the Blackwater went down right after Bell got outta the joint?”

John scoffed. “Seems extra strange when you consider he got outta the joint early and unexpected.” 

Arthur grunted his agreement. “Thought it was just me who  figured that. Glad that ain’t the case.”

“I assume most people think it, just most people wanna trust Dutch, and he’s kinda… caught up in whatever’s goin’ on in his head.”

“Maybe. You shouldn’t go out on any jobs with him. One-on-one or otherwise, I don’t care what Dutch says. He gets you alone, if he’s an informant who knows what kinda shit he could get you into.”

“If Dutch tells me to go, I’m goin’. Got child support to pay.”

“Good luck payin’ it in prison,” Arthur grunted, and shook his head. “Look, I’ll pay you the difference. Just don’t put yourself in that kinda position - stick to this kinda errand runnin’ until everything’s calmed down. At least until I can figure a way to make Dutch see sense. If you think Abby’s mad now, imagine how mad she’s gonna be when the FIB take you into custody for some dumb shit Micah Bell did. Alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Arthur. Alright.”

Arthur grunted, and if there was any more he had to say he got cut off and John never got to hear it. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and John watched as the screen lit his face and his brow furrowed in confusion. His mouth worked  silently around what John assumed was a text  with too many numbers and condensed letters, and then his face fell into an unimpressed frown. 

“What’s it say?”

“He ain’t comin’.” 

“You have got to be shitting me.” 

Arthur pushed himself off the car and stretched to give John his phone, and John glanced over a text that read  _sory 2 cancel beefcake,_ _mikey needed help w his bra_ _b4 the big event_ _._ _Ron_ _will b in touch, xoxo T_ and as John was about to hand it back another came in and  _hope ur not mad, i was looking forward to seeing ur cock_ _B_ _le_ _a_ _ve u me_ popped up on the screen. He snorted, and handed it back to Arthur. “ Charmin’.”

“Ugh, Jesus,” Arthur grunted, and hammered a reply out too hard with his thumbs before shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Waste of my fuckin’ time.”

“ _Your_ time?”

“Let’s agree it’s a waste of both our time.” 

“So now what?”

“Now? We tell Dutch that this creep bailed, and try not to make a fuckin’ face when he acts surprised a violent psychopath ain’t reliable, and then probably get sent back out here on another fool’s errand in a few days. That’s what.” 

“I meant, you still wanna get that beer.”

Arthur stood and blinked like John was speaking another language, and then grunted and let his posture slacken a little. “Yeah. Just one, though, figure you wanna get back to the city.”

“Course. Just one,” John said, knowing already that wasn’t going to happen. 

Arthur was doing what he normally did. Letting the next day be a happy coincidence – if they drank too much, John would spend the night. And if John spent the night, Arthur wouldn’t need to ask for his company. He wouldn’t have to admit that he wanted it, or take more than he thought he deserved, because Arthur rarely accepted affection. He  hadn’t before April fourteenth  ten years prior, and he certainly  didn’t afterwards. Nowadays, Arthur barely even accepted  basic  help. If they’d let him  he would have let himself bleed to death on the night Colm and his crew had tried to take the Overlook rather than make his injury anybody else’s problem. 

Arthur took him to a bar called the Yellow Jack Inn, where he knew the bartender and a few people there, and where John spent too long looking at a snake that was occupying a spot close to the pool table. They drank until Arthur was handsy, leaning heavily on John as he tried to play darts and laughing when he failed to hit the board with Arthur’s weight shifting against him.  The woman behind the bar never cut them off, and John didn’t have the heart to do it himself because Arthur’s good mood was contagious and rare, and so he couldn’t explain how, exactly, he found himself belly-down in Arthur’s bed and waking up to a very violent-sounding alarm. 

He jerked awake and blinked sleep out of his eyes, and was crushed by Arthur’s arm flailing for the snooze button. He couldn’t say he really minded that much, and so when Arthur didn’t roll back and left his arm hooked over John’s upper back and his chest pressed up against his shoulder, he didn’t complain.  Jonn’s belt buckle dug into his stomach, and his boots were still on his feet which hung over the edge of the bed, and it was far too warm and his mouth tasted like stale beer, but it was fine. It had been a while since everything felt fine. 

“As soon as I stand up I’m gonna regret drinkin’ so hard,” Arthur mumbled, voice thick and sleepy. John nodded his agreement, and had the tired impulse to turn his face into Arthur’s broad soft chest and hook his arm around his waist, but he knew how that would end. Even barely awake and on the verge of feeling his hangover kick in, John knew Arthur would laugh at him and shove him off. He might even feign anger. 

“Gonna make coffee,” Arthur said, and John grunted, and Arthur didn’t move. 

It took them another hour to get up, and another hour after that for the aspirin and food and coffee to kick in, and by ten John was starting to feel like a human. Arthur still looked like a wreck, but John  suspected that wasn’t strictly the hangover. 

“I was gonna take a ride around, since I’m out here anyway. Wanna come?” he blurted, talking over the sound of the water as he washed the plates they’d used for breakfast. John thought the chore might be alright cover – something he’d never do immediately after eating at his own apartment, but Arthur’s trailer was organized and he might as well keep it that way, and if he was preoccupied he could keep pretending they hadn’t done this same thing every April for the last eight years, barring one.

Arthur  finished brushing his teeth and  stepped out from the bathroom. John could feel him watching more than he could actually see him, and struggled not to turn. The answer felt like it took forever to come,  and it made him nervous even though he knew what it would be . 

“Sure.” 

John shut off the sink with too much force and snatch ed a banana off the counter, peeling it cramming it in his mouth as he picked up his keys and wallet. Arthur laughed low, muttered something about how he was a bottomless pit  as he passed him on the way to the front door.  John only grunted in return, and reached into his pocket for a hair tie.

The light outside was blinding and struck John with a wave of nausea, and he wondered if he should drive, but it lasted about as long as it took him to put his sunglasses on. Arthur had had the foresight to put his on before the door even opened, and John must have made a noise he didn’t realize because Arthur was laughing at him still, quietly. 

“Fuck you, man,” John said with absolutely no malice, and he finished putting up his hair and sat astride his bike and checked his phone to see if anybody he cared about had messaged him while Arthur locked up. By the time he’d determined there was nothing important hidden in the usual chaos and the request to check in from Dutch and the bullshit, Arthur was climbing on the back of the bike. 

Arthur rarely rode with him, which made this unspoken tradition bittersweet for John. He liked the feeling of Arthur’s hands on his hips and his thighs pressed tight against him, and he liked thinking that Arthur was sitting closer than he strictly needed to. Maybe because Arthur was a big guy, even if John was slight enough to give him enough room. Maybe it was just because Arthur never asked for that closeness and soaked it up wherever he could without even realizing. John didn’t really care which it was, and if Arthur’s hands slipped further around his waist he didn’t complain.  He just wished it would happen on days that weren’t April fourteenth.


	2. Chapter 2

John had never met Eliza or Isaac properly. He’d seen them once or twice from a distance but they’d never spoken –  h e’d only been fifteen when Isaac was born, and at the time it had seemed to him that Arthur must be hugely inconvenienced at being saddled with a kid and he had no interest in meeting it or the woman who bore it. He’d said so much to Arthur, once, and gotten cuffed upside the head afterwards .

Eliza was pretty, and looked a little like Mary,  who John had gotten to know because she was there when Dutch had Arthur take him under his wing a few years prior  when they were still in New Austin . Like Mary, she wasn’t particularly interested in getting involved with Arthur’s life,  but unlike Mary, she wasn’t too good for Arthur’s time or money.  He wasn’t even sure they were actually ever dating, but they were some kind of family, and the similarities between the m and his own  situation weren’t lost on  John . A careless night of passion, followed too quickly by a kid, and he thought Eliza and Arthur probably never fought like he and Abigail did and maybe they didn’t love each other like  he and  Abigail did, either, but there was some kind of bond there.  Some kind of friendship.  Arthur had sent them money, and Isaac had spent holidays with him sometimes, and the three of them had spent time together but not enough of it. Arthur had been a young and wild thing. John imagined that he hadn’t shown up when he said he was going  to ,  either . 

In many ways, John saw himself and Abigail in Arthur and Eliza, but in many ways they were nothing alike. Because he loved Abigail, and Abigail was lucky like a cat that always landed on its feet  and E liza was about the unluckiest person John had ever  known of. There wasn’t much John could think of that was less lucky than getting  murdered in a drive-by because you happened to live next door to the person it was meant for.  A bullet had caught Isaac in the back, and he remembered Dutch holding Arthur by the shoulders and saying in hushed tones that it had been quick and painless, but he never said anything about how fast it had been for Eliza. John never asked.  He just listened to Dutch telling Arthur that it wasn’t his fault, that it had nothing to do with the life he lived and everything to do with Eliza’s bad luck. 

It was April fourteenth and he was nineteen, sitting next to Arthur in the city morgue, and he had wanted Arthur to cry or scream or seek revenge, but Arthur had just stared blankly at the tile floor and looked cold and stony and ignored all physical attempts at comfort. He’d stayed that way too, for the most part - John had mourned the warmer, wilder part of him that died with his family. The loss had forced walls up around Arthur, and he’d felt like it had driven a wedge between them.  It was a selfish thought, but he couldn’t help it .

The first year,  Arthur ignored the anniversary. In retrospect John thought that he’d just thrown himself into his work and there had been enough of it to do that. Dutch had just acquired the Blackwater, and they were in the middle of a fight with the Lost, and the youth program Hosea  and Swanson had started  up in  Los Santos was bringing in new blood that needed training just like John had. But the second year things had settled, and Arthur had had nothing to distract him from the guilt because he never truly believed that it wasn’t his fault. So April fourteenth rolled around, and John and Hosea and Dutch figured Arthur was just taking a day to mourn  when he didn’t answer his phone . Finally. But that day turned into two weeks, and finally John and Hosea thought it best to head out to Arthur’s trailer, and they’d found him drunk and unshowered and bearded and looking like he hadn’t left his bed for more than an hour or so a day in that whole time. Hosea had sent John for groceries, and John had taken his sweet time because he’d never in his life seen Arthur so broken and he didn’t know what to do with it. It terrified him. When he finally got the nerve to come back, it was hours later, and Hosea had Arthur dressed and bathed and they were sitting at his table talking quietly.  Hosea hadn’t said anything to John. He only stood and went to make dinner, and didn’t say a word when John sat beside Arthur and held his hand  firm and insistent while avoiding eye contact entirely . Didn’t say a word when Arthur looked down and cried like it was the most painful and embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him, even though his grip on John’s hand was white-knuckled and trembling. 

Since that second anniversary, John had only missed one April fourteenth, and from what he understood in his absence Abigail and Hosea had taken over the responsibility that year. The tradition was unspoken and John was convinced should it ever be talked about it would stop happening. Arthur didn’t ever ask for any kind of support. John had never asked him if he wanted company going to visit his dead  child and ex-lover. He had simply shown up on the third anniversary, invited Arthur on a drive, and sat outside the cemetery gates until Arthur finished. And then they sat in silence somewhere – a diner, a park, John’s bike, Arthur’s front porch – like nothing had happened at all, like nothing was happening, even if sometimes John pressed his leg tight against Arthur’s or fisted his fingers in the cloth at the small of Arthur’s back. They didn’t talk about any of it. Even that first year John was back, Arthur had accepted the tradition even through the fresh feelings of betrayal and hurt. It was an important bond between them.

They hadn’t buried  Eliza and Isaac in Vinewood Cemetery, but in a small graveyard that wasn’t even on a map. John didn’t know how Arthur had found it,  but it didn’t surprise him  that  he had. Arthur probably found more secret places in San Andreas than any man alive – it was just his nature. In any case, it was pretty, and rocky and dry and surrounded by pines that made the air smell of sap. Year after year, the visit got shorter and shorter, and John supposed you could only apologize to silent stones so many times before the futility of it started to sink in. Or maybe Arthur was just getting old and tired. He wasn’t so cold and stony anymore, not since he’d started spending more time with Jack and certainly not since he’d gotten shot, and maybe that was part of it too. John was learning, himself, that it was harder to let go of things you hardened yourself against. Maybe Arthur was actually working through things. 

J ohn made his way through one cigarette, and sat and relaxed on the grass outside the cemetery gate with his feet stretched out and crossed in front of him, leaning back against the fence. He listened to bees buzzing a few feet to his right, crows somewhere in the distance. Felt heavy, dry, hot air on his skin. Thought he heard Arthur talking quietly, and wondered what kinds of things he had to say. Almost missed the sound of Arthur walking back, the dry shift of earth around the pace he’d recognize anywhere, and picked himself up off the ground in time to reach his bike just before Arthur did. 

“Where we goin’?” John said, and when he looked over Arthur had stopped by the gate and was looking at his phone with his brow furrowed. “Who is it?”

Arthur cast him a look that he couldn’t quite read, and held the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Dutch, Philips didn’t show and I – wait, wait. Slow down.” 

John frowned, and watched Arthur standing there with his hand on his hip and his mouth drawn tight. Listened to him assuring their mentor that it would be alright, that yes John was with him, that they’d be there in an hour, and that everything was fine.  Arthur hung up, and moved to get onto the back of John’s bike. 

“It’s Hosea,” Arthur said, shoving his phone into his pocket. 

“I had a text from Dutch this morning but I figured he just wanted to check in about the plane,” John said. His stomach flipped. 

“Me, too. Guess not.”

“Where we goin’?”

“Pillbox Hill. Quick.”

John nodded, and kicked the bike into gear as Arthur’s hands clamped onto his hips like a vice. 

When they got to the hospital, John followed Arthur in and felt much younger than he was. Felt like he was a kid again, eighteen and tagging along behind Arthur as they went to see Bessie.  Same hospital, even.  He’d never liked hospitals, and he liked them even less when he had to walk through the halls terrified of what was going to happen. If he wasn’t trailing Arthur, who walked brisk and purposeful and like he knew what to do, he’d never even manage to make it to the waiting room. 

His hands felt numb, and he felt like he was watching himself from a distance. Arthur was putting his hand on his back and ushering him through the doors to the emergency waiting room, Arthur was speaking to the woman at the desk, Arthur was taking his hand and pulling him through the door they’d been buzzed through because he must have seemed dopey and overwhelmed and incapable of managing it himself, and he was following Arthur again and watching himself watch Arthur half-sprint up to Dutch who had stood up when he saw them coming down the hall to the room he was in. Watched himself watching Hosea hooked up to too many wires and machines, and didn’t quite feel himself again until he was standing next to the bed and holding Hosea’s hand. John was only vaguely aware that behind him Arthur was trying to calm Dutch down enough to get a concise explanation out of him. Hosea’s fingers gripped against his too weakly for him to care about paying attention to anything that was being said. 

 

* * *

Hosea Matthews joined his wife shortly after 10:00 PM on April fourteenth and the funeral was held three days later. John still wasn’t clear on what happened, beyond the fact that Hosea was very sick and frail and whatever had happened had been too much, and while he wanted to know he found himself missing the chunks of time when he was told and hearing only static where the knowledge should be. All he really remembered was Abigail showing up with Jack and sitting next to him and holding his hand, and thinking Arthur didn’t have anybody to hold his while he stood behind Dutch and spoke quietly to Hosea in his hospital bed. He also remembered how full the room got as those who had come with them from New Austin came to pay their respects and say goodbye. Bill, Sean, Javier, Pearson, Grimshaw, Swanson, Karen, Mary-Beth and Tilly, all crowded into the little hospital room. John’s family, for better or worse, gathered in a time of crisis. 

T he funeral was even better attended. The newer members stood by as solemnly as the old,  and at the wake  they held at the Overlook they laughed and sang just as loudly.  Sadie and Charles and Lenny, new to the group but no less a part of the family. And Micah, who had at least had the decency not to come to the hospital. Or maybe nobody had told hi m about it . Dressed in the only suit he’d ever worn,  John  tried to focus only on the people Hosea actually liked and kept a tight hold of Abigail’s hand until she made him let go, and couldn’t find it in himself to partake in the party. 

His attention was drawn to Dutch, who was sitting with Molly and looking dangerous. Not dangerous in the way John was used to him looking – not that wild predator look he got in his eyes. This was something more basic, something hurt and unhinged,  and it shook John out of his numb feeling. He thought about how he’d feel if Arthur died.  He thought that Dutch was standing on the edge of a cliff, and getting ready to take them all with him, and he thought if it was him losing Arthur after all that time and with all the stress Dutch had he didn’t know what kinds of bad choices he’d make. Especially not with the only person who had really reigned him in gone. John felt nauseous and excused himself and went out to the parking lot through the back door  to escape the overwhelming feeling that everything was ending . 

Smoking his cigarette, John felt empty. He thought he should be crying, probably,  but he’d never been very good at crying. John couldn’t remember the last time he did. 

The door opened behind hi m and he heard Arthur walking. 

“You were lookin’ kinda pale,” he said, and stood beside John without looking at him. 

“Guess I don’t feel quite right.” 

Arthur made a quiet humming noise, and something in John snapped. He felt his throat closing up, and desperation  crept in.

“What the fuck are we gonna do, Arthur?” 

“I dunno. Keep on doin’ what we are until we can’t.”

“I know you said you wanted time to see if you could help Dutch get a handle on things but I- the last thing Hosea said to me was that I should focus on Jack.”

“You should.”

“This is my family, really. Only family I ever known.” 

“I know. Trust me, I do.”

“I forged my dad’s signature on that paper Dutch had, you know. The one Hosea said made it so Dutch weren’t kidnappin’ me when we left New Austin.”

“I know.” 

“You’n Dutch and Hosea are all I got, and Dutch is losin’ his god damn mind.”

“I know.” 

“I don’t wanna leave you behind.”

“You wouldn’t be. I’d never – it’s you and me, John.” 

J ohn nodded, and felt the panic creeping at his edges still. He was so tense that Arthur’s hand on his shoulder made him jump – the sincerity on Arthur’s face, though, calmed him. 

“I mean it. It’s you and me no matter what. If you wanna go, we’ll go. If you wanna see this out and wait for Dutch to calm down, we’ll do that.”

“I thought you hated me.”

“I was hurt and mad but I figure – I figure in light of everything, it’s time to let it go. That was the last thing Hosea talked to me about. You and me. I love you, John, you and your family. Nothing matters more.” 

J ohn let his cigarette drop to the ground and found himself putting his arms around Arthur before he could help it. Arthur gripped the back of his jacket and put a hand on the back of his head.

“I don’t wanna stick around for whatever shit show Bell’s planning, and without Hosea here to keep things under control it ain’t gonna be pretty,” Arthur said, voice low in John’s ear. “If we go, we can afford property out where I am now. Plenty of places Abigail can work, and you’re a good mechanic. I can find a job lookin’ scary somewhere else. If you wanna go, we’ll go, and don’t you worry none about what Dutch’s got to say about it. He’s got plenty of folks here with him still.” 

“I’m afraid of what he’s gonna do. He ain’t been… right.”

“Ain’t much he can do.” 

“Charles and Sadie, Lenny-”

“They’ll figure it out. They wanna go, they can. Hell, they can stay with us until they get their situation figured out.”

“I’ll go insane out in the country.”

“Better invest in a therapist, then, huh. You outta problems you think we can’t solve yet?”

John barked a laugh, and pulled himself away from Arthur, who had the gruff-fond look on his face that John had missed seeing. He dragged a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. I guess we got a plan.”

“You give the word and we’ll put it in motion.”

“Yeah. Maybe Tilly’ll keep Dutch in check and we won’t have to.”

“Good a lawyer as Tilly is, she ain’t got the history with Dutch that Hosea had. Now it’s just us versus Micah, and his song’s a little sweeter than ours.”

“Guess so.” 

Arthur gripped John’s shoulder, and then let his hands fall. John watched him scratch at the back of his neck and grind the remainder of John’s cigarette into the gravel. “Gettin’ late. I’m gonna see if Abigail  wan t s a ride home,  I’m sure little Jack’s gettin’ tired and Sean’s singin’ only gets worse as he drinks . You comin’?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be in in a minute.”

He nodded, and started on his way back into the bar. John watched, and felt tension rising in his chest as he called Arthur’s name. The man turned at the door to look back at him. 

“I love you too,” John said, and he felt exposed and raw and thought maybe Abigail was right - he was a son of a bitch and if Arthur hadn't said it first, he'd never have managed to tell him because he'd make any excuse not to talk about his feelings. 

Arthur smiled soft and tired and went back into the Overlook. John stared at the door and took a deep breath.  



End file.
